


Valdemar Eats a Food

by CrinklyTinfoil



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Comedy, Food, One Shot, Other, Picky Eater
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-11-02 10:39:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20717651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrinklyTinfoil/pseuds/CrinklyTinfoil
Summary: Have you ever seen Valdemar eat? The apprentice sure hasn't, and it's eating them up inside.





	Valdemar Eats a Food

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shiba_with_a_Typewriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiba_with_a_Typewriter/gifts).

You stare at the looming figure who sits across the table from you. Valdemar’s unnerving smile is fixed to their face, their head tilted towards the side. Despite their smile, you can feel the rage that is boiling underneath the facade. They are not happy with you, and that knowledge alone should make you afraid. But that doesn’t change the reason why you are here. Your motivations are petty, but you are determined beyond belief to banish this question from your mind. In front of you both is set a bountiful feast, prepared by the castle cooks. Nadia did not understand why you needed this feast, but when you assured her it had everything to do with the investigation of the Counts death, she obliged, and now, the table is set with some of the most delicious delicacies that your peasant eyes have ever fallen upon. There are exotic meats, slow roasted to perfection, with what appear to be tantalizing drizzles of honey sliding down their sides. There’s breads of all sorts, including a thick loaf of pumpkin bread, which you specifically brought up from the market below. Some have delicious glazes that shine on their warm, golden surfaces, while others are dense and dark brown in color, and you can smell the delicious fragrances of the surprises that have been baked into them. There is seafood, and pies, and all sorts of other amazing and delectable food… and all of it is here for one purpose, and one purpose only.

Valdemar’s head twitches towards the door, as though hoping that Volta will come and save them from the task at hand. It was a miracle you talked them into this; you’re still not sure how you talked them into this, if you’re honest. The truth of the matter is that despite being in the palace for weeks on end, you have not seen Valdemar consume a single scrap of food. Granted, you haven’t seen Valdemar about for most of your stay here, but every time you see them, they have not eaten anything. For a normal person, this would be an observation easily ignored, but for some odd reason, you’ve been obsessing over it. “So…” Valdemar’s voice finally breaks the silence, and you jolt. They tilt their head to one side, red eyes scanning across all the food that has been presented to them. “Am I to understand that you have called me here, not to ask me to testify against the doctor during the court, not even to recount my tale of what happened that disastrous evening… but to have me try numerous items of food?” Their tone is judging, and you can see their eyes narrow just a sliver. You stand your ground though, your obsession refusing to die.

“Yes, that is exactly why,” you proclaim, trying to think of a single excuse that they should reasonably do this. Their eyes dart back towards the table, and their gloved hands come together as the survey the beautiful feast that has been set out in front of both of you. They wrinkle their nose, and look back towards you, an eyebrow arching towards the sky. “And this is the best food that could be provided for this nonsense task?” You look about, unsure of what they mean. This spread is fantastic, and the mere smell of the food is making your mouth water. “Yes?” you answer, feeling all the more hesitant by their obvious disdain of this situation. With a heavy, and clearly irritated sigh, they once again glance towards the door. “And there is a reason that you have chosen me to do this, and not one of the other, more willing couriers who would not doubt happily consume… this?” They wave their gloved hand vaguely at the food covered table, their smile still fixed in place. “I just thought that you’d be best, because, um, because I’ve never seen you eat.” You blurt it all out in one sentence. Their smile slips for just one second, and they themselves seem to consider this fact. “Oh, I suppose you are right about that.”

They cock their head to the other side, and let out a sigh. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.” They don’t sound convinced as they eye the food around, clear distrust lurking behind their smiling façade, as though they expect the roast meat to come to life and stab them. You have no idea how someone becomes so distrusting of food, but there is a scrap of pity that lingers in your heart. “I’ll eat the food with you,” you offer eagerly, your stomach rumbling as you quickly reach for some of the meat that is closest to you. Valdemar slowly looks you up and down, before replying in a rather unnecessarily pointed manner. “Yes, I’m sure you would be more than eager to do that.” You pause, slab of meat halfway on the sliver dishes provided by Nadia for this occasion, trying to figure out what exactly they meant by that. You have little time though as you watch them slice the most pathetically minuscule sliver of meat from the slab in front of them, and gingerly place it down on their plate. They poke at it, before bringing it up to their nose and sniffing it. You do none of these things, simply stuffing the meat into your mouth, and enjoying the rich flavors. It is succulent and rich, and yet, somehow still delightfully sweet. It almost melts away in your mouth, as you have to hastily wipe away the juice with a napkin. You here a slight noise, and look up to see that Valdemar’s smile has slipped. They have taken the tiniest bite imaginable, and now their nose wrinkles in what you can only assume is disgust as they seem to roll the bite around in their mouth. They hastily put their fork down and pull up their napkin, cleaning their mouth.

“Seriously, you don’t like it?” you demand, as you shove another delicious bite into your gob. “The flavors conflict,” Valdemar says, staring at the meat as though it has done them some personal wrong. “Food used to be more simple. This, this is overdoing it. Far too many flavors, and the sweetness is appalling.” You will be the first to admit you are slightly shocked by their rather, strong, opinions of the meal in front of them. The fact they have any opinions about something they refused to care about ten seconds before is more than a little surprising. They turn their head away from the meats, and focus on the other items on the table, their smile back in place. “How about you try the quiche?” you offer, quickly reaching for one of the quiches near you. The quiches have been baked to perfection; their crusts are flaky and buttery. There’s an odd mixture inside of them, and you can taste the rare specialty cheeses that have been baked in. You feel your mouth watering as you put a little inside your mouth. It has a delicious strong milky taste to it, combined with just the right amount of herbs and spinach. As you happily eat away at your generous helping, you glance over at Valdemar, and are not surprised by what you see. Once again, the amount they have taken is just a disappointment to you. It is a sliver of quiche, so small that you’re sure if you were just an inch closer, you’d be able to see through the damn thing. It is so thin, that it almost looks like a sheath of paper lying on their plate. You realize, in a rather alarming moment, that they’ve been using a scalpel to cut apart the quiche, dissecting it in a rather meticulous fashion. Their red eyes are glued to their task, and they seem far more interested in mutilating the quiche then actually eating it. You clear your throat, and their head snaps up, a brief flash of irritation crossing their features.

You pointedly look at the pathetic scrap of food on their plate and they, reluctantly, bring it up to their lips, allowing the tiniest portion to cross into their mouth. Intrigued, you watch them chew, and then their expression once again crumples as they place down their fork in a decisive manner. “This is far too heavy,” they say simply, glancing up and catching your gaze. “And whoever cooked it did not cook it thoroughly enough. The bottom is soggy.” You blink, not fully understanding why this was a problem. “So you really don’t like it?” you protest, not understanding how that is possible. Valdemar shakes their head and places their elbows on the table, staring over at you with that unnerving smile once again on their face. “No, I do not. As I’ve said before… all of this food is too rich, too decadent.” As they say this, your eyes stray towards the pumpkin bread. You brought that bread up specifically from town, from the baker who is always so nice to you whenever you pass through the city. If Valdemar has an issue with how fancy the previous food was, surely they could not protest the good nature of the pumpkin bread. You hear a rattling and turn to see that Valdemar has stood, knocking the table slightly as they do and making the silverware clink. “I believe I have entertained you long enough. If you wish to rid yourself of all of this, I suggest that you call upon Procurator Volta. She hardly cares what she puts in her mouth, and will no doubt help you with this… mess.” They gesture their hand towards the table, and turn to the side as though to leave.

“WAIT!” you protest, leaping to your feet. They turn, giving you a piercing look under which you wither ever so slightly. You don’t know why it’s so important, but the entire point of all of this was to see Valdemar eat. Sure, you’ve seen them put food in their mouth, but that is not the same as eating, and deep in your heart, a small voice tells you that if you can only get them to try the pumpkin bread, everything will change. They might actually enjoy it; after all, it is far more simple than any of the other food items upon the table. “Just try one more thing,” you plead, trying to sound reasonable. Their expression is bemused as they stare at you with those red eyes. “Why should I?” they ask, though they return to their seat. Apparently they are curious, for all the good that does you. “Because, you haven’t tried the best one yet,” you insist, pointing towards the serving of pumpkin bread that sits near them. They glance at it, then back at you. They seem to consider this for several seconds, before their smile seems to widen. “Fine, but, if I am once again subjected to a disgusting taste, you will be obligated to eat something that is actually enticing.” You do not like the expression they have on, nor are you particularly heartened by the ring to their words. Clearly, this is some sort of trap, but you are sure of the power of the pumpkin bread. You nod your head, not quite sure what you’re agreeing to. “Okay, fine, but just try the bread. It’s one of my favorites.” “Really.” Valdemar does not sound surprised as they pull the still warm loaf closer to them.

They prod it with an experimental finger, and lean over, inhaling the soft wisps of steam that still rise from it. Their expression is guarded, and they do not give a single clue to how they feel about the loaf in front of them. They begin to cut, once again with that stupid scalpel of theirs. “Hold on, hold on, you have to take a reasonable portion at least, don’t skimp out,” you protest, and the glance up at you, before looking back down towards the microscopic sliver of bread they are cutting free.“Very well,” they respond, giving you what is no doubt supposed to pass as an agreeable smile. They move their scalpel a bit further, before making the cut far further back, cutting off a slim, but far more reasonable slice of bread. The rest it on their plate with all the grace of a scientist placing a lab specimen onto a dissecting tray. For several moments, they simply stare at the bread, as though taking it all in. Then they carefully reach down, wrapping their rubber clad fingers around it. With a swift motion, the raise it to their mouth, and you are finally satisfied to see them take a decent bite from the soft bread. They chew, their expression, still guarded. They continue on, staring at the bread, as though trying to formulate the perfect words to describe it. Then, there is a twitch in their face, and the motion of their jaw stops. They simply sit there, frozen for several seconds, leaving you in a state of confusion. “Um, Quaestor Valdemar, are you okay?” you ask, just as they seem to choke, before spitting out the pumpkin bread, the mushy lump splattering against the floor.

They look slightly more green than usual, and you watch in alarm as the place a balled fist to their mouth, bending over as they seem to consider what just happened for several seconds, before looking up towards you, their eyes burning with what you can only describe as a vengeful fire. They place their fingers together once again, as they seemed to take a minute to gather their thoughts. “That is possibly the most vile thing that has found itself into my mouth,” they say, their voice slightly dangerous, as though accusing you of trying to poison them. “The pumpkin is over saturated, and the bread is far too soft. It was as if someone’s mushed a pumpkin down, shoved it into a baking tray, and then put it in the oven for several minutes, before attempting to serve it to customers. Vlastomil’s worms hold more appeal that this bread, I would rather eat one of them before ever touching this again.” You are deeply wounded, but you do your best to hide it as Valdemar briskly stands. “And since you have subjected me to such a horrible ordeal, now you shall enjoy a dish that I actually find to be quite delectable.” They stride from the room, leaving you in a state of shock. Everyone loves that pumpkin bread. Everyone! You cannot imagine how Valdemar is finding fault with it, let alone why they would say such awful things about it. This does explain why you never see them eating, though. If they’re so damn picky, there must be very little food that actually appeals to them. There is a sudden creeping feeling down your spine, as you wonder what it is Valdemar likes to eat.

An unnerving silence continues to fall as you wait for them to return, pondering why it is you don’t simply run for it. You stare at the door, beads of sweat beginning to make their way down your forehead. The room is so quiet, so very quiet. You wonder how long they are planning to be gone for. After what feels like ages, the door is gracefully pushed away. Valdemar appears, holding what appears to be some sort of medical tray. “That took a rather long time…” you say hesitantly as they place a red slab of some sort of meat in front of you. It appears almost raw, and no matter how hard you stare at it, you cannot tell what sort of beast it might have come from. Valdemar smiles a smile that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. They do not move from their place beside you as their eyes stare intently down at you, as though determined to bore holes in your head. “Yes, it is a rather long walk down to my secret dungeon from here.” You stare at them before asking, feeling very nerved. “Why exactly was this food being stored in your secret dungeon? What is this?” Valdemar just continues to smile, tilting their head and giving a small wave of their hand. “That would ruin the surprise. Just eat it.” It is not a request. You glance down at the meat that has been set in front of you, poking it with your silverware. “Is, this, um, cooked?” You look up at them, and if possible, they seem to be smiling even wider. If you tried, you are sure you could count the amount of very sharp teeth that are in their mouth. It’s funny, it’s only just now that you’re fully acknowledging just how sharp those teeth are. So very, sharp, so very shiny.

You pick up your steak knife and saw at the meat, wrinkling your nose at the odd smell that wafts off it. It seems warm, yet as you cut into it you’re sure it isn’t cooked. “Is this safe to eat?” you question. Valdemar continues to smile, not giving you a single answer. They’re looking at you as though you’ve just walked into a trap, and you’ve still failed to realize it. Slowly, you cut off a tiny corner of the meat, watching as your knife slides through it with difficulty. You sniff it, and immediately you are repulsed. “And you like to eat this?” you say, not really believing that anyone could possibly enjoy whatever this is. Its scent alone is off-putting, and something about the consistency is familiar and at the same time repugnant.

Valdemar reaches over you, and you see their scalpel is back in their hand as with a deft strike, they cleave off a slice of the meat. Dangling the strip between thumb and forefinger, they bring it to their mouth, and drop it inside, looking quite satisfied as they do so. “Delicious,” they declare, and you can tell just by looking at them that they aren’t lying. You take in a breath, before carefully, putting the tiniest morsel into your mouth. Immediately your face scrunches up, and you feel like gagging. You cannot name the flavor. It is like steak, and yet your body assures you that it is not. It’s still warm, but not warm in the sense of an item of food that has been put briefly in an oven or a pan: warm in the sense that it almost tasted like it had been carved straight from something that moments before was alive. Every fiber of you wants to spit it out, but Valdemar is still watching, so you muster up your courage, and swallow it best you can, flashing a slightly sickened grin.

They seem slightly more pleased than they should. “Well?” they ask, and you give them a weak thumbs up. “What… what an interesting flavor. What was it exactly?” Valdemar just continues to smile. It almost feels as though they have a deep urge to laugh. They pat your head with a gloved hand, then turn. “If you have any questions that are actually relevant to what is currently happening in the palace, then please, be sure to direct them elsewhere,” they say as they begin to stride out of the room. “Wait, hold on, what sort of meat is this? Quaestor, what is this meat?!” You call frantically after them, but they do not respond as they stride out the door, leaving you alone with the food. You sit, staring at the meat in front of you. You suppose your questions have been answered. Valdemar does in fact eat. But now, sitting with the unidentified bloody lump in front of you, you find that another question has sprung to the forefront of your mind, and this one has far more concerning implications. What is it exactly, that Valdemar likes to eat? As you stare at the meat you just tasted, the lingering feeling of rust flavored blood covering your tongue, you wonder if you truly want to know the answer to this question.


End file.
